


In Which Dixon Druce Makes A Public Debut Of Sorts In A Park

by chthonicfantasyyy



Category: The Sorceress of the Strand
Genre: Carriage Sex, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Public Sex, Revenge sex?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:41:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22071952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chthonicfantasyyy/pseuds/chthonicfantasyyy
Summary: I can't believe I'm the first. I wrote this for my final and I hated it but I got a hundred????
Relationships: Dixon Druce/Eric Vandeleur





	In Which Dixon Druce Makes A Public Debut Of Sorts In A Park

When his secretary comes into his office, telling him that there’s a telegram from Eric Vandeleur, any semblance of Dixon Druce’s professionalism evaporates from his body as he lets out a long sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose.

He didn’t even need to read the telegram to know what it was about. About a year and a half later, Druce was regretting mentioning Madame Sara to Eric Vandeleur at all. It had started as a simple favor, but Vandeleur had been getting all the credit for anything regarding the case, and had the audacity to be humble enough to not say anything about it.

Anytime Druce heard mention of Madame Sara around his agency, he had the urge to pointedly mention that the case was still unsolved. Most of the time he managed to tamp it down, and the times when he didn’t, no one seemed to care much at all.

The spectacle of Madame Sara had wormed their way into their minds the same way it always did.

“Sir?” the secretary says, fidgeting awkwardly in the doorway.

Druce holds his hand out for the telegram, displeasure painfully obvious.

As expected, Madame Sara is up to something again. Vandeleur had gotten a tip from someone--Druce bristles; they’d completely sidestepped coming to him first, it seemed--and Madame Sara was to be meeting with someone in the park.

Presumably, they would be going to watch Madame Sara meet someone at the park.

Apart from that, there’s no other details, not even specifics about her plan, assuming she had one. Madame Sara did run a legitimate business when she wasn’t running several other illegitimate businesses, and Druce wouldn’t be lying if he said that he didn’t want Madame Sara to turn out to be completely innocent at this point.

Spite was certainly a powerful drug, but not powerful enough to keep him from grabbing his coat and waiting for Vandeleur’s carriage outside the agency.

Vandeleur looks more alive than he has since the first day Druce met him, and he talks animatedly throughout the whole ride to the park, speculating about Madame Sara’s contact and her plans while Druce pointedly stares at the passing scenery as evening falls.

The park in question wasn’t so much a park as much as it was a small patch of land that no one quite knew what to do with yet. 

It’s most frustrating feature was the ground, it wasn’t level and it wasn’t level in the most architecturally infuriating way possible. Rolling knolls city planners could work with, but not a sharp cliff dividing the park unevenly in half.

The planner did their best however. The lower, larger section of land had all the amenities necessary for a park, a fountain, lights, benches, while the smaller upper section had one meager bench but was otherwise left to nature, and a dense copse has grown on top of it.

Not many people frequented this park, largely out of fear of ruffians hiding in the bush, ready to swoop down on unsuspecting park goers, Vandeleur explained. And this was where Madame Sara was to meet her contact.

The carriage was nestled right by the sheer face of the cliff. It was high enough that all Druce and Vandeleur had to do was look out the window to watch was was going on, but low enough that Madame Sara would have to go to the edge of the cliff in order to see them, assuming she spotted them at all. The groom was sent off to take the horses out to graze somewhere else in the park; if they got into a spot of trouble, their options for escape were limited, but they wouldn’t have to worry about the horses getting fidgety and making noise.

“Are we looking for anyone in particular?” Druce asks as he scans the copse. He might not have been happy about the circumstances, but he would at least make an effort for the time being.

“Madame Sara, of course,” Vandeleur says, chuckling at his own joke. “But I suspect one of her usual contacts.”

Druce raises an eyebrow. Vandeleur gestures vaguely.

“You know. Tall,” his mouth twitches as he fumbles for words. “Typically of overt masculine persuasion, lacking social graces, odd garb, dark skin….you know, someone very...not English?”

Druce narrows his eyes. While he certainly agrees with the sentiment, he certainly doesn’t agree with the way Vandeleur hasn’t looked at him during that entire exchange. His eyes are trained on the other side of the cliff, his tongue occasionally darting out to moisten his lips, hungry like a snake watching a rodent scuttle around in the undergrowth.

Nothing could possibly tear him away from the pursuit of Madame Sara at this point. Contrarian as always, Druce wracks his mind for something.

Druce’s eyes drop to Vandeleur’s crotch, and in an unexpectedly Freudian twist, recalls a case from a while back, one regarding fellation. 

It was unintentional, honestly, but the thought popped into Druce’s mind all the same. How could Druce even consider something so...so…He can’t even begin to put words to the thought. To think he’d spent so much time complaining that Vandeleur’s success was ruining his reputation, as if this wouldn’t be even more damaging, even more disgraceful.

Druce is sure his immorality is written on his face, and he quickly glances up at Vandeleur, steeling himself for the tongue-lashing and, if Vandeleur was indiscreet afterwards, the downfall of his own reputation.

Vandeleur hasn’t moved a muscle since he last spoke. If anything, he’s more invested in what’s outside the window.

Reputation be damned.

Druce obviously isn’t going to just throw himself into...such an act. There were obviously certain steps that would lead up it, steps that were equally incriminating, but that thought calmed him down a bit.

“Vandeleur.” Druce leans forward and puts a hand on his knee.

Nothing, perhaps his pupils dilate a little like a cat spotting prey.

Druce’s hand ghosts further up his thigh. “Eric--"

The other man jolts in his seat, presses himself close to the window and stands slightly to get a better angle.

"It's her!" he says, eyes wide and bright like he's looking at a pile of presents on Christmas morning.

Druce narrows his eyes. It's as if Vandeleur is trying to irritate him at this point, as if he knows full well what Druce is up to and is trying to lure him into a trap.

Druce wouldn't put it past him, but he's also been acting like this since they first heard of Madame Sara. The chances of it suddenly being an act is slim.

But still, Druce glances up and out the window as well.

On the other side of the bushes, trailing just about the muddy ground, is the hem of a woman's dress. Of course that's not enough to be Madame Sara, but unfortunately Druce has dealt with the woman enough to know how she moves, small steps but slow and sure.

Druce looks back at Vandeleur and trails a finger up the front of his jacket. Growing bolder at his lack of response, Druce leans over and opens his jacket as wide as he can with Vandeleur pressed up against the window.

Vandeleur wasn't much of a dresser. His job didn't involve people as much as Druce's did, or at least not living people. He never had to dress for different clientele or throw on a disguise to avoid detection. Eric Vandeleur had a very small closet to work with--

\--but Druce was realizing that every item within it was very well tailored, cinching his torso into a tight V-silhouette, and, if the silk dimpling under his gloved hands was any indication, very well taken care of. 

Vandeleur is still staring out the window. 

Druce removes one of his gloves, keeping his eyes on Vandeleur the whole time, then reaches forward to touch his waistcoat again. Cool, slightly slippery to the touch. He slowly slides his hand down the double breasted front, then starts unfastening the buttons.

This was where Druce's actions would become more incriminating, the moment where he truly crossed the line and undid the buttons of Vandeleur's trousers, his face bright red.

Vandeleur doesn't respond, or at least, he doesn't respond to anything Druce is doing.

Vandeleur’s dick was the first and only one that Druce had even seen or planned to see and he had absolutely no frame of reference for what to expect, other than the fact that the patch of pubic hair above it was blonde rather than black like Druce’s. If Druce had to wager, they weren’t too far off from each other (that is, they were both, presumably, average) but it wasn’t as if he was going to undo his own trousers and check--He had gone far enough already by attempting to fellate him, though he’d be happy to go a step further if necessary.

Though maybe not. He’d seriously miscalculated how big it was, didn’t consider that Vandeleur would have to be erect during the process, or how the whole thing was going to fit into his mouth, but he liked to think he was making decent progress.

(He hated that he liked to think that he was making decent progress.)

Druce’s lips reach the base, his nose brushing up against Vandeleur’s happy trail. The heady scent of him fills Druce’s nose as he glances up, hoping for a reaction, for anything.

And Vandeleur is certainly reacting. He’s breathing shallowly and there’s a thin sheen of sweat coating his face.

His smile is still directed out the window.

A wave of anger surges through Druce and he’s almost tempted to get his teeth involved. There’s no way Vandeleur could act this lackadaisical, no way that Madame Sara had such a hold on him--Vandeleur was too nice to be in it solely for the accolades, so genuinely interested in the little scrap of info that the situation and the risks that came with it were the furthest thing from his mind.  
Druce’s eyes flick away from Vandeleur’s face as he pulls off and stands, reaching for the latch at the top of the carriage.

Vandeleur stands as if he had just asked Druce to open the top of the carriage for him, and Druce’s face is hotter than a street lamp as he tries his luck and drops back to his knees in the nearly empty park.

Druce really hated the idea that Vandeleur was getting off from waiting for Madame Sara and her contact. He could feel how close Vandeleur was, the way he pulsed and twitched against Druce's tongue, and at this point Druce suddenly realized that he never actually considered the logical endpoint of playing his colleague’s flute.

Above him, he hears the rustling and crunching of someone moving through the copse, and several events happen in quick succession.

Madame Sara’s contact arrives. Vandeleur gets very excited about this. As Vandeleur is getting excited about this, Druce quickly does the math and pulls off. As Druce is pulling off, Vandeleur loudly exclaims, possibly because Druce pulls off but definitely because Sara’s definitely up to something and also because he ejaculates, right on Druce’s face, in an open carriage in the middle of a park. Madame Sara and her contact run, because Vandeleur just yelled very loudly in an open carriage in the middle of a park, and now that the show’s over, he sighs and flops back in his seat.

“Blast,” he grumbles as Druce blinks, slowly coming to terms with what happened while Vandeleur lounges with his waistcoat open and pants undone. “Well, she’s certainly up to something now.”

Druce pointedly pulls out a handkerchief. 

“I suppose I’ll get the groom--” he starts to say through gritted teeth as he looks back out at the park--

\--only for his eyes to fall on an all too familiar silhouette of a small woman. Druce balks and looks back up at the cliff, then back out at the park. Madame Sara, the actual Madame Sara waves, and heads out into the night.

There is such a thing as being haunted by an idea or by a personality.


End file.
